


(you found) your place in the world

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s01e01 Pilot, F/M, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All these years, she’s longed for him without even knowing it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(you found) your place in the world

**Author's Note:**

> Funny story about this fic...is actually not all that relevant. Tell you later.
> 
> I'm behind on comment replies; I'll try to get to them later today. In the meantime, sorry for being the worst!
> 
> Title is from Halestorm's _Rock Show_. Thanks for reading and, as always, please be gentle if you review!

The day takes quite the turn when Jemma’s argument with Fitz—nothing serious, of course, simply a little mutual aggravation mixed with first-day nerves; it will blow over before dinner—is interrupted by a sudden _thump_. It distracts the both of them (sudden _thumps_ are worrying things in a laboratory full of delicate and expensive equipment), and they look to the sound at once, argument forgotten.

Dark, familiar eyes meet hers, and—

—memory hits her like a wave. Like an _ocean_ of waves: each time she thinks it’s stopped, another washes in. It’s only the ease of long (and newly remembered) practice that lets her keep her balance, and she fakes her way through the conversation that ensues, maintaining a bright smile like her head isn’t pounding fit to burst.

She grips his jaw as she swabs his cheek, and her fingers burn. Releasing him is a wrench, to say nothing of walking away. Her feet are suddenly unfamiliar beneath her; all she wants is to sink into his arms and hold on tight, let his strength support her as she relearns her own body.

But there are secrets to keep, of course, and Fitz would have questions. So she moves away, chatters to fill the space between them, and pretends her entire being isn’t aching for him.

His eyes remain fixed on her the whole time.

He leaves too soon, and she quashes the urge to chase after him. Instead, she waits until the plane—the Bus, Coulson called it—takes off, and then lets her argument with Fitz escalate until it reaches the point where she can throw her hands into the air and storm away.

When she storms off, she does so into the cargo hold, and ducks into the first appropriately distant storage pod she finds.

Then, she waits.

It takes him longer than she expects to join her, but that’s all right. She’s grateful for the moment to herself. She feels—not ill, exactly, but…unsettled. Like she doesn’t quite fit inside her skin. As she waits, she takes a seat on the table in the middle of the pod, trailing her fingers along her collarbone in the hopes of encouraging her nerve endings to start feeling like hers again.

It doesn’t really help. This is always how it goes, and experience has taught her the sensation won’t fade until it’s good and ready. And it certainly doesn’t help that this time, the unfortunate physical discomfort comes with a side of cognitive dissonance; she suspects that reconciling what she believed with what she now knows will take even longer than physical adjustment.

Still, at least she understands why she’s been so bloody cold, lately.

Destiny has been calling.

The fanciful thought makes her smile, and it hasn’t yet faded when the door opens. He’s quick; before she can so much as uncross her legs, he’s lifting her off the table and spinning to pin her against the door. She welcomes the move—wraps her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, lets herself fit into _them_ the way she can’t fit into _her_.

As ever, they fit perfectly, slotting together like matching puzzle pieces. She regrets that they don’t have time—or privacy—enough for sex, but for the moment, this will do: the warmth of his body pressing her into the door, the heat and hunger of his mouth against hers, the strength of his grip beneath her thighs.

She’s missed him. All these years, she’s longed for him without even knowing it.

She still hasn’t properly adjusted; sooner than she’d like, the burning in her lungs forces her to break the kiss. He leans back, but only a very little—they’re still breathing one another’s air, sharing a decade or two’s worth of stockpiled warmth.

“Hello, darling,” she says, punctuating the greeting with a kiss to his nose. “Did you miss me?”

“You have no idea.” His hands flex on her thighs. “It wasn’t very nice of you to leave me waiting, Persephone.”

For whatever reason, hearing her name—her _real_ name—in his voice does the trick of settling her into her skin, and she rolls her shoulders back in relief. Her breasts press against his chest with the motion, sending a shiver down her spine.

Settling comes with a side of intense sensitivity; her body might well be brand new, and she itches to welcome him into it.

“And who says it was I?” she asks, scratching her nails through the hair at the nape of his neck. His smile sharpens. “Perhaps it was _you_ who left _me_ waiting, Hades.”

Something in his face relaxes, and she presumes that he, too, has now settled. Thank goodness. Adjusting to the change that accompanies the return of their memories is always a struggle, and no two lifetimes ever require the same trigger to finish the job. It’s almost enough to make her wonder why they bother hiding the memories at all.

( _Almost_. The frustration of going from being a goddess to a helpless infant, unable to walk or speak or even lift one’s own head, would be enough to drive anyone mad. It’s for the sake of their own sanity that they suppress their memories each time they choose to incarnate.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, “who was it who stood on the banks of the river Lethe and claimed she _wasn’t_ gonna incarnate this time? Because it wasn’t me.”

Ah. Now that he mentions it, she did say that, didn’t she?

“Fair enough,” she says, and rests a hand over his chest. His heart beats, steady and familiar beneath her palm. “My apologies, then, for keeping you waiting. Believe me when I say that the years I spent alone before deciding to join you were very, very dull.”

A half-truth, at best—she missed him, of course, but it was less than five years (barely a blink when one is immortal) and it was nice to have some time to herself—but, as expected, it soothes his ego to hear.

“Forgiven,” he declares, followed by a brief kiss. She smiles into it, heart full. “Now, Coulson told me we’re headed for LA. Where do you wanna go from there? Athens? Rome? Somewhere new?”

“About that,” she says, biting her lip. “I want to stay.”

Hades frowns. “SHIELD would know if we’d met before. We can’t claim history.”

“I know,” she says, sparing a grimace for their organization’s invasive tendencies. Even so, she supposes it’s only to be expected when one works for a spy agency. “Still, though.”

Unsurprisingly, his frown doesn’t let up. After nearly two thousand years of playing at being mortal, they’ve developed something of a standard procedure. Their memories are restored the moment they lay eyes on one another (which actually led to something of an interesting problem in the last life, in which she was born blind), and as there’s never any predicting how long it will take them to meet (they’ve gone more than one lifetime without ever meeting at all, in fact), they have several different potential approaches.

Meeting like this—as adults—generally involves pretending a past relationship, and in those cases where it’s not feasible, for whatever reason, they tend to simply pack up and walk away from their mortal lives.

Persephone has never had a problem with it before. Over the centuries, she’s walked away from husbands and lovers—no mortal love can compare to her feelings for Hades—and even children—though less permanently, there; she always stays in contact, and then awaits them in the Underworld—without a second thought.

This time, however…

“I want to stay,” she repeats, and his eyes narrow. “I don’t want to leave—”

She falters, but Hades has no trouble finishing for her.

“Fitz?” His hand sinks into her hair, a tender hold that she knows can become painful in an instant. Arousal throbs through her veins. “Should I be jealous?”

Rousing his jealousy is always rewarding—Hades is so delightfully possessive—but that isn’t her aim this time. For one thing, there’s no telling how long it will be before they’ve the necessary privacy and time for sex; for another, she doesn’t want Fitz to suffer for it—for _anything_.

“Not like that,” she says. With the distance her memories bring, she can see—in a way she never could, as Jemma—that Fitz has feelings for her, but even if she had never remembered Hades, she wouldn’t have returned them. “He’s dear to me. Like…a brother.”

It’s the way of the gods (or some gods, at least; she and Hades do _not_ fit into this pattern) to be careless with their children, and Persephone has never even _met_ most of her parents’ offspring. There is only one brother—one sibling at all, really—by whom her heart has been moved. He was mortal and is long dead, and as he does not reside in the Underworld, he is lost to her forever. Even now, millennia later, she can’t bear to speak his name.

And somehow, while she was Jemma, Fitz wheedled his way into the same space that brother occupied. She loves him dearly, and it would hurt him if she suddenly disappeared. She doesn’t want that.

“I see,” Hades murmurs, searching her face.

“Besides,” she adds, forcing a lighter tone, “it will be fun, don’t you think? Playing secret agent?”

He was quite enamored of spy novels in their last life, as she recalls, and it must have carried over—why else would he have become a specialist?

Besides the violence, of course. For all that he’s fairly peaceful (at least as far as the gods of his generation go) as himself, his mortal incarnations do tend towards a certain…brutality. Making offerings to himself, he called it once, and she smiles to remember it.

“I’ve been playing secret agent for a decade now,” he says dryly, and she loves him for how easily he goes with the change of topic. “In more ways than one.”

“Oh?” she asks.

He shakes his head.

“Nevermind,” he says, setting her gently on her feet. “If you really wanna stay, we can. It’s harder to run in this day and age, anyway.”

“Much harder,” she agrees. “Especially from SHIELD.” She straightens his tie for him, and warmth curls in her chest at the smile it gets her. It’s just…so lovely to be with him, again. “And yes, I would very much like to stay.”

“Okay,” he says, and tucks her hair sweetly behind her ear. “Staying it is, then.”

“Thank you.” She grips his lapels and pulls herself onto her toes by them to kiss him. It’s softer, this time—less urgent need and more pleasant familiarity—and Hades’ hand is a reassuring weight against her lower back, steadying and supporting her. “I did miss you.”

“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he says as she lowers herself onto her heels, and she makes note of the endearment.

Their mortal lives do influence them, especially in cases like this, where they don’t meet until adulthood, and it tends to show in small ways—most notably their speech patterns. In their last life, for instance, he preferred to call her _love_ …but he was British then, of course.

Funny that they’ve swapped, now; she English and he American.

“So,” he says, “science, huh?”

Speaking of their mortal lives… “Yes. Quite a bit of it.”

“Yeah, I read your file,” he says. “Two PhDs as a teenager. Very nice.”

“Thank you!” Her glow of pleasure is all Jemma, but that’s all right. She’s proud of her mortal self’s accomplishments—if, admittedly, a bit puzzled. She’s never been a genius before. “I wasn’t able to access yours, unfortunately, though Fitz and I did try. Have you done anything of note?”

Hades’ smile becomes a smirk. “Oh, this and that.”

His tone raises her suspicions.

“Should _I_ be jealous?” she asks archly.

“Not at all,” he promises, then tips his head. “Although SHIELD does like to make use of my skills in that area.”

She nods, accepting it. She never _enjoys_ hearing that he’s been with other women, but then, she’s hardly been chaste herself, in this life. The 21 st century _is_ so wonderfully advanced, and she’s had her fun.

Besides, she’s confident that no mortal woman could compare to her, any more than a mortal man could match him.

“So,” he says, thumb sweeping over her pulse. She’s not certain when, precisely, he took her wrist, but she’s glad for the contact. This body doesn’t _know_ him, not properly, and until they have the time and space to rectify that (and she does hope it will be soon), small touches will have to tide them over. “How are we gonna play this?”

Hmm. She fiddles with his sleeve, considering—noting as she does that it’s a relatively poor quality suit. Poor Hades; he’s always been a sartorial snob, so it must be driving him insane.

“Well,” she says, “as you rightly pointed out, we can’t fake a history, here. How strictly are the fraternization regulations for field teams enforced, do you know?”

“Haven’t done much in the way of teamwork,” he admits. “Grant Ward’s kind of a loner. But from what I’ve seen? Not very.”

She takes a moment to fix the name Grant Ward in her mind. She’s known it for months, of course, since the team was first put together, but she needs to be able to associate it with Hades’ face. He was the last one to slip, calling her Persephone in front of her mortal father some six hundred years ago, and she held it over his head for _decades_. She’s not about to give him the chance to return the favor.

“Coulson seems fairly lenient anyway,” she muses, thinking of his unconcerned reaction to her and Fitz’s failed field assessments. “So I suppose we can risk starting a relationship.”

“Good,” he says, plainly satisfied. Then he frowns. “It’s gonna have to be gradual, though. Coulson might not be the type to care about the frat regs, but my cover is.”

“Cover?” she echoes, a bit surprised by the word choice. “My, you _are_ a specialist, aren’t you?”

Hades laughs. “It’s a long story—and probably not one you’re gonna like.”

Curiosity piqued but not quite willing to spoil their reunion, she shakes her head.

“We’ll leave it for later, then,” she decides. “How gradual does our relationship need to be, do you think?”

“Very,” he says, with something she learned millennia ago never to call a pout (to his face, at least). “It’ll be months, at least.”

That’s…much longer than she was expecting. “When you said _loner_ , did you mean to say that Grant Ward is—?”

“A socially awkward stick-in-the-mud,” he offers resignedly. “At least as far as SHIELD is concerned.” He shrugs. “When he’s not undercover, he’s got no idea how to talk to women.”

Well, this will certainly make things interesting. And to think—wait.

“As far as SHIELD is concerned?” she asks. “Darling, is it possible that you’ve _already_ made a practice of deceiving SHIELD?”

She’s not entirely sure how to feel about the prospect—although the part of her which is still mostly Jemma is appalled, Persephone herself is more affected than she would have thought. Jemma was so strongly loyal to SHIELD; some of that must have leaked through.

“Yep,” Hades says, utterly shameless as always. “It’s part of that long story.”

“Ah,” she says, and decides to move along. “In any case, I’m sure we’ll survive waiting a few months. It might even be fun.”

For one thing, she’s already imagining how amusing it will be to flirt with other men in front of him while he’s not in a position to react. And his revenge will undoubtedly be _just_ as enjoyable.

“Fun?” he asks skeptically. “Really?”

“Absolutely. A nice little game to keep us entertained during the team’s off hours.”

“You and your games.” He gives her a fond smile, and there’s just enough heat behind it to tempt her towards throwing caution to the wind. “You haven’t changed at all, have you, Persephone?”

The low tone with which he voices her name decides her; how much harm can it do, really, to have him here and now? The chances they’ll be caught are miniscule, and even if they are, she’s sure they can—

“Simmons?”

Damn it all.

“Oh, Fitz,” she mutters to herself, aggrieved. His timing is _always_ terrible, but she doesn’t dare ignore him, for fear he’ll come looking and find her with Hades. So she straightens her shirt absently and opens the door to call, “In here!” down the hall.

“What are you doing back there?” he shouts back, and then, “Nevermind. Come help me with this bloody equipment, will you?”

“Just a moment!” she promises. She means to offer some excuse for the delay, but Hades has stepped up behind her, and her breath catches at the press of his chest to her back.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, arms snaking around her waist. His lips brush her ear, a delicate touch she feels all the way to her toes. “After thirty years, you can’t spare an hour for your husband?”

She lays her hands over his on her waist and tips her head back against his shoulder. The heat of him seeps into her, warming her to the bone, and she gives herself a moment to luxuriate in it. It’s only September, but it’s already so cold in this part of the world, and she’s never quite got the hang of winter above ground.

He’s so solid—so warm—and his arms are strong around her waist. Temptation itches at her once more—

But Fitz is waiting.

“Not without giving the game away, no,” she answers, a touch belatedly, and reluctantly pulls away.

“Fuck the game,” Hades mutters, but lets her go nonetheless.

“How do I look?” she asks, turning to face him. “Is it obvious that I’ve recently been soundly snogged?”

“Would it be so bad if it was?” he asks, feigning offense.

“Not bad so much as difficult to explain,” she says. “If Grant Ward is so awkward, I don’t expect he makes a habit of cornering strange women in storage pods.”

“No,” he agrees. “Not as himself, anyway.” He smooths her hair down, then thumbs at her lower lip. “You look beautiful, and not at all like you’ve been—” he smiles, a little “—snogged.”

“Thank you,” she says, and steps back. If she doesn’t leave now, she never will. “I’ll see you later then…Ward.”

The name is strange on her tongue, but surprisingly not odd. It fits him, somehow.

“Later, Simmons,” Hades replies, and though his tone is light, the weight of his gaze speaks of reluctance.

It’s her own desire to stay with SHIELD that necessitates their effective separation, and she loves him more than ever for so easily agreeing to it, despite his clear reservations. She makes a mental note to do her best to keep his spirits up—and, once they have the necessary privacy, to reward him for his indulgence.

In the here and now, all she can do is lighten his mood. She’s tempted to tease him about the Disney film _Hercules_ (and oh, is that _magnitudes_ funnier now that she has her memories), but that, she thinks, is better saved for when they have more time.

(But when they do have the time, she is going to have _so much fun_ with it. She really should watch it again to refresh her memory; maybe she can arrange to do so in one of the Bus’ common areas, so as to ensure Hades catches her at it.)

For now, she restricts herself to a simple, “I love you,” and is rewarded with a smile.

Between the two of them, it’s more a promise than a phrase. She’s long since lost count of the years they’ve been together, but it’s certainly been millennia, and her faith in this has never wavered. The other gods may stray, willingly discard their marriage vows in favor of this mortal or that god, but not so for Hades and Persephone. Though she often plays at flirting with mortals and he always moves swiftly to punish her for it, they both know it’s only a game.

Without their memories, they look often to others; with them, they are intrinsically, inarguably linked. Of all the goddesses of Olympus, she chose best. Their promises are much, much more than mere pretty words.

“I love you,” he returns, soft and fond, and, satisfied, Persephone takes her leave.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, funny story: a few days ago, I started writing a fic in which the team discovers that Jemma and Grant are actually Persephone and Hades. But it was just a bunch of sitting around while the two of them exposited, and it was SUPER boring. So after 2100 words, I gave up and decided to write the reunion instead. Hope you enjoyed!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [right in the front row](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640585) by [shineyma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma)




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